An idea lit her face, the worry vanished. "Alan likes Nino’s legs, right? Look, they’re still the same."

She stretched one leg past the table, grabbed the hem of her track pants to pull it up.

The moment an ankle flashed pale, Alan’s spine iced over. He bent, seized her wrist, and pinned it down, voice low and sharp.

"What are you doing? Is this how I taught you?"

Held fast, Nino froze, lower lip trembling, chin crumpling like crumpled paper.

"But... Nino has nothing else to offer. Don’t make Nino leave, please..."

She seemed to shrink into the dust.

Alan closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, fingers tightening around her wrist. At last, he opened them, gaze steady.

"Nino, let’s make a promise."

"Mm-hmm!"

Nino sat up like an eager pupil, eyes sparkling.

Alan raised three fingers in front of her.

"Three years. If, after three years, you still feel the same, I’ll marry you."

"Okay!"

Without hesitation, Nino’s smile bloomed like a flower.

"I’ll always love Alan."

***

Tokyo, Japan. 24 October.

Two days have passed since the uproar in the kendo club.

Calm is the default rhythm of life, but it never lasts, just as waves on a shore never rage forever, there is always a lull.

At noon, when Nino Kitagawa boarded the coach, thin rain trickled from the grey dome of sky.

Alan stood among the crowd, looking up as Nino waved goodbye from the window. When the coach lurched forward, rain streaked across the glass, sliding across her face like tears.

Yet she was smiling, Alan could see the girl’s bright grin clearly.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t really a farewell.

Nino probably never believed they were truly parting. From the night he carried her down a rain-soaked slope, their destinies had been braided together.

He watched until the coach vanished round the corner by the school gate. Before he could lower his gaze, a burst of relieved chatter rose behind him.

"Ah... thank goodness, she’s finally gone."

The words weren’t Makoto’s, but Alan saw the captain’s tense face slacken, shoulders dropping.

He hadn’t spoken, yet his body spoke louder.

"All right, everyone, good work. Dismissed."

Applause scattered, the group broke apart in twos and threes, already debating lunch plans, weekend outings, or the latest gossip.

The gossip was, of course, about him: "two-timing scumbag," "dragging his girlfriend onto the dojo floor," "zero kendo spirit."

Some envied him too.

In short, he had become famous.

Alan glanced at his watch, letting the noise wash through him. He had more important things to do.

He had taken only two steps when a hand settled on his shoulder. He tilted his head.

"Don’t take it to heart. They’re just bored, it’ll blow over in a few days. If it gets bad, I’ll talk to them—"

The captain smiled, honest square face making him impossible to dislike.

He still felt guilty for forcing Alan to that match, in a way, he’d thrown his junior under the bus. The rumors weren’t Alan fault.

He had to make amends, maybe not silence every whisper, but at least keep the gossip from swelling.

Alan disliked being draped over. He shifted his shoulder, stepping half a pace aside, and shook his head.

"I don’t care, Captain. No need to explain—the more you explain, the more they’ll think you’re covering up the truth."

Makoto blinked, then nodded in understanding and sighed.

"You’ve got a great mindset. Still... I envy you."

"Envy?"

Alan glanced at him, amused.

"Not jealousy?"

"Ah?" Makoto met his eyes, caught the implication, and waved both hands.

"No, no, envy, not jealousy. Do I look like the kind of guy who sees the surface and gets bitter without asking why? I’m not that shallow."

"To keep two girlfriends, you must’ve paid a heavy price, right?"

Alan studied him a moment longer.

Before he could answer, Makoto cleared his throat.

"Cough. So, Alan... any secret love techniques you can share?"

Ah, so that’s what he’s after...

Alan almost laughed, but answered seriously.

"If there’s a trick, it’s sincerity. The right person will understand you, the wrong one isn’t worth tricks."

"Sincerity?" Makoto’s caterpillar brows knitted in thought.

Before he could puzzle it out, Alan slipped past him.

"Hey, don’t run off, lunch’s on me."

"No thanks, Captain. I’ve got urgent business."

"Huh? It’s Sunday, what could be urgent?"

"Making money."

"...Huh?"

***

After lunch, Alan drove to the Aoyama Artist Training Institute.

Since promising Nino "three years," he had put Nozomi Sakura’s special training on the front burner.

In truth, the three-year buffer wasn’t an impulsive whim.

It was both a test for Nino and a test for himself.

People change, no one can see the future. Whether Nino would still love him in three years remained an unknown.

Even if the odds looked eighty percent now, that remaining twenty percent could not be ignored.

Three years would also let him earn enough money.

Setting aside his own dream of becoming Japan’s richest man, even if Nino were willing to live in poverty, he was not.

Looking at Nino’s realistic career paths—PE teacher, police officer, university coach—only PE teacher felt safe to him.

His song royalties wouldn’t last forever, and grinding kendo to LV5 for prize money was fantasy.

Nino’s talent was S-rank, but raw talent plus hard work might still take decades.

True progress required elite sword-arts schools. He had scoured the internet, only to find scraps or fakes.

As for apprenticing under a master, the fees rivaled the system’s prices, and there was no guarantee of receiving the real techniques.

In the end, exchanging through the system was faster, safer, and just as ruinously expensive.

One LV4 school cost five hundred million yen, and even then Nino might not reach LV5.

If she did, the system’s reward of one billion yen left little after subtracting time and costs, barely enough for a house.

Selling system techniques was impossible, convincing buyers was another hurdle.

Kendo simply wasn’t commercial enough, championship prizes couldn’t cover the investment.

Running a dojo in Tokyo would likely operate at a loss... he had run these numbers long ago.

Therefore, the only viable plan was to pour all three years into Nozomi and flip scripts once she hit LV5.

A tough gamble, yes—yet he had once guided Akari Hojo to LV3 in eighteen months.

Three years for Nozomi to reach LV5? He had faith.